Each Little Individual

Pushing open the door to the hopefully empty classroom, wincing when she heard the create Katie softly walked inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. Standing up straight and walking over to the little cupboard in the corner, while looking around she opened it and knelt down to look inside.

Noticing a shiny smooth surface of wood she grinned and reached into the cupboard and pulled out an older-than-it-first-looked acoustic guitar. Dusting it off and sneezing when the dust flew around the air, she watched as the dust particles were lit up in the light. Spying the desks in the room, she walked over to one and pulled it out.

Sitting on a chair and plucking each of the strings she turned each of the tuners individually until the right note rang out around the room, smiling when each of them were in tune together. Perfect. Strumming the strings together Katie attempted to remember what exactly the chords were. She was so caught up in it she didn't notice as the door opened.

Osmund was one to hide when he didn't feel like dealing with people. Becuase of this, he had taken up a habit of finding lonely places to hide his person and to be alone. On the ninth floor, he had found that there was a room that was unused and dusty, though as undesired as it was, Osmund could count on never being interrupted and took it as a safe haven for himself.

However, he had found that his room, his sanctuary, was filled with music, as the Oulett rested his hand on the door knob, his ear ever so close to to the wood of the door through which he heard the all familiar sounds of a guitar. Osmund was not a curious young man, but indeed a territorial person and swung the door open to confront the intruder.

"This is my room," his voice echoed in the silence and dust and pause of the guitar as the player looked to see who might be their audience. However, it was then that familiarity struck Osmund. This was not any intruder, it was Katie. A coy smile filled his face as his hands made their way to his pockets and th boy all but strutted into the room. "So the savage quidditch player has got a soft spot for tunes?" Osmund played. "But still. This is my room."